


run away with you

by jeonmeanie



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, Bottom Jeon Wonwoo, M/M, Top Lee Jihoon | Woozi, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 15:14:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15843906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeonmeanie/pseuds/jeonmeanie
Summary: Wonwoo gets married. Jihoon looks back to all the years he spent pining over him.





	run away with you

"Congratulations on your wedding."

The voice that comes out of my lips is wavery, and when I let my eyes roam up his body to meet his eyes, I'm surprised that they're watery. He looks down at me, as if about to cry, and I can feel my heart clench up when he drops his head, as if trying to contain the tears. I feel like yelling at him. You're not supposed to be the upset one here. I'm the one watching you marry another woman, another human being that is not me. But I don't say that, no, I would never be able to say that out loud to him. All I can do is reach up and pat his black head until he seems to calm down.

"I'm so sorry," he sobs, and I'm at a loss of words. What do I say to that? You should be sorry? Or that it's fine? You shouldn't worry about it? Thankfully, or maybe not actually thankfully, before I can say something, he leans down and hugs me. As I let my right hand reach over his back and hug him back, I can feel the sharp blades of his shoulders. It reminds me of when I had yelled at him to please eat _something_  for lunch. His voice brings me out of my memories. "I'm so, so sorry, Jihoon..." he says again, and I can't help but swallow the stream of tears that are about to come to my eyes.

We'd always been stuck in this rather ambiguous relationship for the past 20 years since we first met when we were five years old. Out of those 20 years, I had spent more than ten pining over the other boy. And he knew it, he knew it so well, Jeon Wonwoo did. Who would have ever imagined that Wonwoo would be the one to put an end to our relationship through nothing other than a marriage? Okay, admittedly, I had known. I had known, but I had chosen to push it away. Push it away as far as I can, letting myself believe that I was fine stuck in this ambiguous relationship. If I could see Wonwoo every day, if I could see Wonwoo smile at me, hold my hand, and hug me every day, calling me his "best friend," then I was fine. I was totally fine even if Wonwoo knew about my feelings towards him but chose to ignore them, pointedly calling me his "best friend" whenever he could.

When we were fifteen years old, I first realized my feelings towards Wonwoo. It was exactly ten years after we had first met in that playground next to the kindergarten we used to attend together. Our parents had been close to each other anyway, and we had quickly become friends; I would always hold his right hand in my left hand and we would walk together to elementary school, each clutching our yellow backpacks with the other hand. What had I thought of him back then? Probably just a good friend. My best friend. My one and only best friend. I still remember hitting his head with my geography textbook back in 4th grade when he had proudly stated that he was now five centimeters taller than me. Oh, the good days.

But things changed when I turned fifteen. I thought that he looked pretty, adorable, precious. I would spend hours in the afternoon watching how his long, dense eyelashes formed a blue shadow underneath his eyes, and how his black bangs fell over his round forehead. I watched how when he laughed, his nose would scrunch up, making him look like a small kitten. I watched how when he cried after reading a sad story or watching a sad movie, the tears would hang onto his eyelashes, then fall to his cheek and roll down, finally making its way to his chin, and dropping down to the floor.

What could I say? He was beautiful. Our high school days, although Wonwoo did not know, consisted of me waking up as early as I could in the morning, rushing to school before Wonwoo could come, and carefully throwing out all the love letters piled on top of his wooden desk. Wonwoo, in fact, still does not know why I had gotten into this huge fight in the middle of our second year of high school. Although I never admitted it to him, it had been because an underclassman had been talking of plans of maybe "drugging him" and "pulling him into an empty room to rape him." Wonwoo had tentatively come up to me at the end of the day and pulled out band-aids and different types of creams, himself flinching more than I did every time I would yell out _it hurts,_  to him when he applied the cream onto my bruised skin. He had cried after, hugging me and asking me to never get into a fight again. I had nodded.

It really was an ambiguous relationship, the relationship that we had, that is. It was always the same pattern. He would come to me crying, and I would let him calm down in my arms, always patting his back, telling him it was okay. I didn't ask what was wrong, I never could. But I could tell him it wasn't his fault. Nothing is ever his fault. Nothing, nothing. Then he would always flash me that sad smile of his. After those intense breakdowns he had, he would always come to my room and sleep next to me in my bed. Was he aware of those short pecks I would steal from him when he was asleep? It was also during one of those nights that I knew he was aware of the feelings I harbored for him.

"You always tell me that it's not my fault, but it is, Jihoon. It is my fault that you're always looking at me, your eyes full of hurt, because I can't reciprocate your feelings," he had said in his sleep, and all I could do was just wrap my arms more tightly around the skinny, tall boy.

We got accepted into the same university at the end of the first semester of 12th grade. Me as a music student, and Jeon Wonwoo as an economics student. What Wonwoo would never know is the only reason that I had decided to study music was that he had once told me, back in middle school, that he thought people who made music were really cool. It was those immature words of a scrawny middle schooler that lead me to study music. Because I wanted to be fucking _cool,_ if that meant I could be fucking cool for Wonwoo.

University was just like high school, except it involved alcohol. And sex.

I had my first night with Wonwoo in sophomore year; I had been drunk, and so had he. I still don't remember who had started the intense make-out session, but I do remember that before I could know, we were in a motel room, both of us in the bed, and me heatedly thrusting into Wonwoo as he cried underneath me, yelling out my name in between gasps and moans of pleasure.

"I had a very weird dream last night," Wonwoo had said to me the next morning. He seemed to not be able to remember the events from the night before.

"What was it about?" I had asked, sitting down beside him on the bed as I reached out to push back a strand of hair that covered his eyes.

Wonwoo blushed at my words, himself turning a light shade of pink, but his ears flushing red as he stuttered. "I... I don't want to talk about it."

I remember the number of times we had slept together, as well. Exactly ten times over the course of seven years. And every single time, he was too drunk to remember what had happened. It was always the same, losing myself in Wonwoo as he whimpered underneath me, looking at me with those glazed eyes and never saying the word "I love you" back to me.

That is, until a week ago, when Wonwoo had visited my house in the middle of the night, reeking of alcohol as he stumbled into my arms and started crying. "I love you," he had said, the tears flowing down from his eyes and wetting my white shirt, "I love you so much. I love you so much I don't know what I can do. Jihoon, what will I do without you?"

And so we had our last night together, and this time it was Wonwoo who initiated it. He was the one who leaned down and kissed me, intertwining his soft, warm tongue with mine. He was the one who pushed me down onto the sofa as he quickly undressed. He was the one who, after pushing in a couple of lotion-covered fingers into his hole, lined himself up with me and came down on me, slowly taking me inside as he let out a long gasp, followed by my name. "Jihoon," he had exclaimed, over and over again as I flipped him over and thrusted into him, over and over again, yelling his name out in the process as well. Wonwoo, Wonwoo, oh Wonwoo. Why is your name Wonwoo? Why is it such a beautiful name as well?

"We should run away somewhere, you know," Wonwoo had said, half giggling the next morning as I pushed a toothbrush into his mouth.

"Whatever you wish, princess." It was a nonchalant answer, and Wonwoo knew it as well. We both laughed, Wonwoo doubling up in his bed as he said something along the lines of _if only we_ could _run away..._

And then, of course, the wedding today. Wonwoo getting married. Crying, telling me that he's sorry. Sorry for what? That he didn't, or better said, couldn't love me back?

It's okay, Wonwoo. Because even if you won't love me back, I'll still keep loving you on.

I love you, Wonwoo.


End file.
